


The Beautiful Lull

by Dira Sudis (dsudis)



Category: Reign of Fire
Genre: M/M, Yuletide 2006
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2010-07-08
Updated: 2010-07-08
Packaged: 2017-10-10 11:18:57
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,186
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/99173
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/dsudis/pseuds/Dira%20Sudis
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>
  <em>Quinn woke up on a rainy morning and felt like he should be on the move.</em>
</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Beautiful Lull

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Ishyko](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Ishyko/gifts).



> Thanks to Iulia for beta!
> 
> This story was written for Yuletide 2006 and first appeared December 25, 2006.

They'd learnt to love a good hard rain when they were out on the road--the colder the better. The dragons might be massive and fire-breathing, but they were still reptiles, and they stayed in out of the freezing rain. Quinn and Creedy and Barlow had walked miles on the roads in safety while it was pissing down rain, carrying Jared when he was too cold and tired to walk.

Even now that they'd settled in this northern castle, with its stone walls and sturdy roof to keep out the rain and the dragons both, Quinn woke up on a rainy morning and felt like he should be on the move, taking advantage of the opportunity. He could see the same Creedy fighting the same impulse all morning, in the restless way he moved through morning chores and the routine of getting Jared fed and dressed. By the time the day had gotten as bright as it was going to get--and still everyone was huddled round the fire in the least-leaky room in the middle of the castle--Quinn couldn't stand it any more.

"Creedy," he said. "We never finished exploring down the east wall. We should check it out."

Creedy grumbled for exactly as long as it took to get Jared off his lap. He lit two torches at the fire and handed one to Quinn, and they headed down to the lowest level of the castle, to the barely-clear passage that wound through the outer walls. It was narrow, with only arrow slits to let in light, and today they were letting in more rain than sun.

The torches guttered in the bursts of wind as they passed each high opening, and they had to crawl over rubble in spots, but they didn't speak. They helped each other along, shining their lights where they would do the most good, all the habits they'd collected since they'd joined up on the road out of London. They'd stuck together ever since, spending the better part of every day for years together through an assortment of other traveling partners. Barlow had stuck, and Quinn had insisted on keeping Jared, and now, of course, they'd settled cheek-by-jowl with all the humans in Northumberland, but when it came to walking, Quinn still felt rightest with Creedy by his side.

Their path ended abruptly, not in the impassable pile of stone Quinn had been expecting, but in a door. It was iron-banded wood, looking as ancient as the castle, except that he hadn't seen another door standing anywhere in the place.

Beside him, Creedy said, "What the _hell_?"

Quinn looked over at him, and Creedy looked back, and they were both grinning all of a sudden. Quinn knew they were both remembering the same closed door, maybe the last one either of them had seen before now. It had been a month or two after they found Jared: a greengrocer's in the Cotswolds, left unlooted for some reason. They'd broken in and waded through the old rotted vegetables, bringing back armloads of crisps and candy. Jared had thought they were gods.

Quinn stepped in closer, and Creedy was on Quinn's heels, holding his torch up above their heads to spread the light. There was an iron ring set in the door, but when Quinn reached to give it a pull, he felt smooth metal underneath, not wood. He crouched, bringing his own torch closer, and stared at the shiny steel deadbolt lock hidden beneath.

He felt Creedy lean in over his back, and when Creedy laughed Quinn could feel it as much as hear it. "And you left your keys in your other pants, didn't you, Quinn?"

"That I did," Quinn said, holding his torch carefully away from Creedy as he stood. Creedy didn't back away, feeling along the framing of the door as Quinn rapped his knuckles experimentally against the wood. It sounded lighter than it looked. "A good kick, you think?"

Creedy flashed another smile. "Worth a try." He backed up to give Quinn room, his distance palpable as coolness, the loss of body heat and a flame all at once. Quinn restrained a shiver and backed up a pace, fixing his eyes on the likeliest spot, just beside the lock. He kicked, and winced at the impact through the worn soles of his boot; the door shuddered but didn't give.

"All right, then," Creedy said, dropping a hand heavily on Quinn's shoulder, warm and startling. "My turn."

"Oh, after I've loosened it for you," Quinn said, but he fell back to where Creedy had been standing, and watched with pleasure as Creedy's foot lashed out against the door, knocking it in with a crash.

"_Ha_," Creedy said, stepping across the threshold and raising his torch inside, "You--"

Creedy didn't move, or speak, just stood there staring. Quinn wondered what was wrong, what could have got the better of Creedy, who'd faced dragonfire and death with jokes and quiet courage. Quinn stepped up to Creedy's shoulder, holding his own torch out behind him to keep it clear, leaning on Creedy and looking past him.

The first thing his eye caught, in the light of Creedy's torch, was a kettle, sitting on a hot plate, the electric cord of the hot plate neatly coiled round the base. Quinn became conscious of a sound, so familiar it almost made him sick to hear it: the pelting of rain against glass. The arrow slit into this room had a window set into it, still somehow intact.

Quinn braced his hand against Creedy's side, leaning closer, and Creedy stumbled through the door, holding his torch out like a weapon. Quinn held his above his head and looked around with wide eyes. There was a shelf on the far wall, divided into cubbies, with a row of hooks beneath for coats. The second cubbie from the left held two books, and a heavy coat hung below it. The hot plate was set on top of a counter, and there was a mug beside it holding forks and spoons; set under the counter there was a small refrigerator. There was a clock on the wall, stopped at 5:37. Someone had tidied up after tea.

Quinn could hear the rain, and Creedy's shallow breathing, and the snap of the torches in their hands. Shadows swooped across the walls as Creedy looked around, but Quinn had already spotted the prize: another door, perfectly ordinary, modern, made of wood with a regular doorknob and a lock on this side.

"I've got this one," he said, walked over and unlocked it.

Creedy didn't say a thing, staring around him like this was all a mirage, though he moved automatically to stand at Quinn's back, so close he could feel the warmth of the torch on the back of his neck. Quinn opened up the door and stepped through into darkness.

A wall had fallen here; Quinn matched it up mentally with the point on the wall where something that would have been a gate had collapsed into impassable rubble. Whatever windows there had ever been into this room were gone; it was dark as a cave now, as good as underground. He shut his eyes for a moment and tried to remind himself: underground was _safe_, practically every time. Practically.

The light brightened against his eyelids as Creedy followed him inside, and Quinn opened his eyes to see counters and shelves, all pristine.

Quinn couldn't look away, and Creedy's voice was hoarse and close as he said, "I guess nobody loots a gift shop."

Quinn looked back at him, but Creedy was looking down. Quinn followed his gaze and realized they were standing on carpeting, dark green industrial stuff. He was reminded suddenly of a school trip: standing with his hands in his pockets in the Heritage shop at Westminster, turning a pound coin over and over in his fingers while his classmates looked at dolls and trinkets. There had been candy by the register. 50p for a lolly.

Quinn turned, raising his torch higher and looking around: they were barely a yard from the cash register, and there was a display of hard candy behind it, striped sticks in cellophane. Quinn walked over there and let his fingers drift over the wrappers. They crinkled under his fingers. Jared and the other kids would love candy. Everyone would. There would be other things here they could use, too.

Creedy made a satisfied sound from a few yards away, between a sigh and a laugh, and Quinn turned his head to see him walking over with something in his free hand. "Here you go," Creedy said, setting it down on the counter beside Quinn. "Gift shops always sell these things."

It was a leather-bound book, held shut with a leather tie. Quinn fumbled it open one-handed and flipped back the cover to reveal a blank page, slightly yellowed.

"Now you can stop hoarding all those scraps of paper in your knapsack," Creedy said. "You can write it all down properly."

Quinn looked up and met Creedy's eyes in the doubled torch light; Creedy was smiling, but there was something shadowed in his eyes. He added lightly, "Something for the grandkids, right?" and there it was, the day's obligatory idle remark from Creedy about Quinn choosing one of the nice girls and settling down.

"Something for Jared, anyway," Quinn muttered. "He'll like the candy better, for now, but this will--" _Will last_. Except it might not; nothing might. Quinn closed the book and ran his fingers over the cover. The book would burn as easily as anything. As anyone.

Quinn wrenched his gaze up, looking away, looking around the room--but outside the little pool of light from their torches, it was all darkness. There was no sound but their breath and the snapping flames they carried; the weight of the rock piled around them kept out even the sound of the rain, and it was hard to even believe that dragons could exist in a world full of cheap candy and picture postcards. And they _didn't_, in this little sheltered place. In this room, the world had survived just as it had been. In this room, everything was safe.

Quinn looked back at Creedy, only to find Creedy's gaze on him, shadowed in the flickering light of the flames, an expression on his face that Quinn had never quite seen. He recognized it anyway; he thought he might be wearing it now himself.

They'd never dared in the open, in the light, on the road. In the dark, under cover somewhere, when Barlow was snoring or had gone off to scout, they'd rolled closer to each other, hands sliding into bedrolls, under clothes: frantic fumbling touches, hot skin under callused hands. They'd gritted their teeth and not made a sound, never said a word at other times. There had never been a moment when there weren't a thousand more important things to do than acknowledge it, never a place where it wasn't safer to pretend it was all a dream.

They were safe here.

They both moved at once, meeting in a rough full-body impact, teeth and lips and chins all colliding in something too disjointed to be a kiss. Quinn was laughing, Creedy cursing breathlessly as their hips ground together, breath mingling between their mouths. Quinn slung his free arm around Creedy's neck, and Creedy's hand slid into his hair, tilting Quinn's head as they settled into a proper kiss. Creedy's mouth was hot and wet and hungry, and Quinn was with him every inch of the way, breaking apart only to breathe.

Creedy's fingers flexed against the back of Quinn's head, and Quinn just tugged him closer, pressing their bodies tighter together, all heat and friction. Creedy made a sound against Quinn's mouth, pulling back, and Quinn had to let go. They stared at each other for a moment, their breath rushing loud as the sea. Even in the uneven orange light Creedy looked well- kissed, his smooth cheek scraped by Quinn's beard. Creedy touched his own lip and smiled a little, and Quinn smiled back.

"We're going to go somewhere we can get both hands free," Creedy said, his eyes steady on Quinn's. He raised the torch a little higher, the light wavering, and his hand moved to Quinn's mouth and then trailed down his throat. "And I'm going to find out what you bloody _look like_."

Quinn could see it, suddenly: one of the tower rooms, where the windows would let in the watery light and Jared wouldn't come bothering them. And even up there, they'd have stone walls about them and a roof overhead, and the cold rain pouring down outside. Even there, they'd be safe.

Quinn leaned in, holding the torch high one more time, and Creedy's hand tightened in the collar of his shirt as Quinn stole one more kiss. The impulse to strike out on the road, in the rain or ever again, left him with the breath he exhaled against Creedy's mouth. "I like the way you think."


End file.
